The deal was sealed over cigars and whiskey.
Justin Hammer's private yacht floated under the glittering Manhattan skyline, the water lapping softly against the hull like an idle metronome. The city lights shimmered across the dark waves, blurring into gold and silver ripples. Anton Vanko leaned back in his chair, pale smoke curling upward as he exhaled slowly, savoring the moment like an old habit. Across from him, Hammer grinned wide and bright — the kind of smile worn by a man convinced he had just secured himself an ace.
"You get the materials and expensive equipment, I get cutting-edge drone tech that makes Stark look like he's selling antiques," Hammer said, leaning over the polished mahogany table, his cufflinks catching the warm lamplight. "We're talking about the future of military contracts here, Anton. The Pentagon's practically begging for something that isn't painted red and gold."
Anton's voice was low, measured. "While I would love to get more involved, I doubt the Pentagon's going to appreciate having Russian partners." His eyes, however, gleamed faintly — not with concern, but with calculation.
Hammer chuckled as if it were a harmless joke. "That's just a matter of spin. They're desperate for more armor, especially since Stark's getting cozy with S.H.I.E.L.D. and not the military. With my help, you get my state-of-the-art facilities — anything you need to make more armor. In return? We both make a fortune."
Ivan sat silently beside his father, hands folded, posture rigid. The yacht's gentle sway didn't touch him. His expression was stone, but the faint curl at the corner of his lips hinted at something deeper — amusement, or anticipation.
Hammer, too focused on the thought of his new army, didn't notice.
Far from the warm lights of the yacht, the air inside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s situation room was cool and metallic. The faint hum of projectors filled the silence between words.
Holographic schematics of Hammer Industries rotated slowly in the dim blue glow. Director Fury stood with his arms folded, his voice hard as steel.
"Hammer's playing with fire, Stark. I want you at that Expo, watching them. If those suits so much as twitch the wrong way, I want to know before the crowd starts screaming."
Tony Stark leaned back in his chair, swirling a drink lazily, the amber liquid catching the projection light. "You dragged me here for this? Hammer's a scavenger. Second-rate tech, second-rate brains. Not worth losing sleep over."
"That second-rate tech is still military-grade hardware," Fury shot back. "Armed, networked, and in the hands of people who don't understand restraint. That's a recipe for dead civilians."
"You're overreacting. The thing we're building together will blow anything they've got out of the water. Let Hammer have his fun."
Fury's one good eye narrowed. "You think I'm overreacting. I think you're getting cocky. And when cocky meets unprepared, people die. So humor me — keep your eyes open. If they're about to burn the house down, you're the one with the extinguisher."
What neither man realized was that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own surveillance grid already had blind spots. Entire movements of the Vankos vanished into those shadows, unseen and unreported.
By the time Stark left that meeting, work was already underway in a far less public corner of New York.
The cavernous prototype bay of Hammer Industries thrummed with the sound of machinery. The tang of hot metal and ozone hung in the air. Rows of armored chassis stood beneath the glare of work lights, their skeletal frames shaped by tireless robotic arms. But these weren't Hammer's designs.
They were sharper. Meaner. Plated with angular armor and pulsing internal power nodes, some built for speed and precision, others for brute force and heavy ordnance.
From an elevated control platform, Anton Vanko oversaw the process. His datapad linked to a secure network far beyond Hammer's reach — Luthar's network. Through it came rare alloys, exotic capacitors, and targeting systems that made Stark's Mark II HUD look like an antique.
Ivan ran a hand along a drone's armored shoulder, feeling the cold steel. "They will not expect this," he muttered in Russian.
Anton agreed. "When we show them, it will not be on a test range."
That night, walking the floor, their plan solidified.
"Public demonstration," Ivan said. "He comes to watch. And we cut the heart from his armor in front of everyone."
Anton smirked. "He'll be too proud not to take the bait. Stark has an ego the size of Moscow."
Two days later, celebration replaced secrecy.
In Hammer's private hangar, the first completed drones stood in perfect formation, their matte plating drinking in the overhead light.
The lighter batch — white-and-blue units with smooth, graceful joints and narrow sensor slits — carried discreet energy weapons along their forearms. The heavier batch — darker, broader-shouldered, and armed with rotary cannons and micro-rockets — radiated brute force.
"They're beautiful," Hammer said, strolling between them like a man admiring sports cars. "Future soldiers. No egos, no paychecks, no bathroom breaks."
"They are not beautiful," Anton murmured in Russian. "They are tools."
When Hammer asked about pilots, Anton merely shrugged. "They do not need them. They will listen to the right command."
The crowd clapped and whistled, seeing only a spectacle. They couldn't see the hidden architecture buried deep in the drones' systems — the protocol capable of hijacking Stark's armor mid-combat.
When that day came, it wouldn't be for show.
It would be a message.
While everyone was lost in their own fantasies, a small metallic shape clung to the shadows above. At a glance, it might have been mistaken for an ordinary arachnid — but its segmented body gleamed with brushed alloy, and the precise shifting of its six delicate legs betrayed its true nature. Tiny lenses rotated within its head, feeding every movement below into a silent.
At another place far smaller still, drifting high above the assembly, a coin-sized disc floated almost lazily. It emitted no sound, no heat, nothing to betray its presence. Its surface shimmered faintly, bending light around itself in ways that made it nearly invisible.
Both machines fed their vision into the same encrypted channel, thousands of kilometers away. Somewhere far from this place where Luthar can watch everything.
The father and son might never have noticed the scarab on the beam. Even if they did, they wouldn't be able to swat it away; even if they did, there was still the coin-drone, which they could not detect at all.
But they didn't need to do anything about the drones. After all, this was their benefactor keeping an eye on his investment.
Authors note: looks like I did forget today is Sunday since I am taking break due to very bad health why it didn't to go to much better but at least for now doesn't feel like and dying so from tomorrow I would try to restart writing it's going to be hard since I feel like I have lost the focus now I am just hoping
I could restart and at least write one chapter a day.